


All That Remains

by wynnebat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Percival was born much later than he was in canon, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Wakes & Funerals, and is thus alive and pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Harry doesn't look up when he hears footsteps. It would take a lot for someone to actually come near the savior of the wizarding world when he sits with his head bent and with Voldemort's body at his feet. The footsteps only stop when they reach the bench.A figure clad in black sits down next to him. Harry casts a glance to the side.It looks like it would take Percival Graves.





	All That Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by anonymous: #41, because the world is saved.

Voldemort's body falls to the ground, limp and motionless. If it ever had much color, it is gone now, his sightless eyes open until someone closes them for the last time. After years of running, hiding, and fighting, relief hits Harry like a bludger, and his knees waver in a way they hadn't even when he'd walked to his death. He's never lived in a world without Voldemort. Relief doesn't cover it—there is no word for the weight that has been lifted from Harry's shoulders.

A mob of well-wishers soon approaches. Harry finds himself hugged and thanked by friends, family, classmates, acquaintances, even strangers. It takes ages to slip away from everyone. Harry doesn't want to, but he takes Voldemort's body with him. He doesn't know what else to do with it. He's left alone when he does. Even the most fervent of his allies doesn't follow after the corpse floating in the air behind Harry. He finds himself slowly making his way toward the Black Lake and the tomb on its shores. After so long in only Ron and Hermione's company, he's used to silence, and he's glad for it right now. Later, Harry knows he will appreciate the presence of other people. But for now...

No one ever told him how shaken he would feel.

He's not even physically carrying Voldemort's body. It's all magic, cast thoughtlessly by the same wand that Voldemort murdered his way into owning. A wand that was never going to be his.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Harry says quietly. He can't seem to voice anything in louder than a whisper.

Voldemort's body settles onto the ground next to Dumbledore's tomb. It feels sacrilegious to bring to Dumbledore's grave the body of the man who robbed it. Even if it is oddly fitting.

Harry collapses onto the bench next to the tomb. It isn't a comfortable one, made of the same white marble that houses his former headmaster, but Harry is too tired to care. He could fall asleep here now and it would be the softest place he'd ever slept by virtue of how exhausted he is.

He doesn't look up when he hears footsteps. It would take a lot for someone to actually come near the savior of the wizarding world when he sits with his head bent and with Voldemort's body at his feet. The footsteps only stop when they reach the bench.

A figure clad in black sits down next to him. Harry casts a glance to the side.

It looks like it would take Percival Graves.

There's a sob somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He wants to see Percival about exactly as much as he doesn't want Percival to see him like this. Mourning an enemy, lost and unsure in a way he'd never been when Voldemort was alive.

In the time that Percival worked with the Order, resigning from his position in America when Voldemort resurfaced in Britain and heading straight here, Harry had developed feelings for him. Percival Graves, one of Dumbledore's closest friends, entirely too handsome and out of Harry's league, a man who hadn't even looked at him with anything resembling lust. There had only been a quiet pride in his eyes when Harry nearly managed to best him in a duel, only reassurance when Harry needed someone in his corner, only patience when Harry couldn't keep a lid on his grief or his anger. It was simply easy to be around Percival, to talk to him, to fall head over heels before he could stop himself. Ron and Hermione seemed to find Percival intimidating, always calling him Mr. Graves, while his other friends hadn't seemed to be interested in the American former auror. Harry couldn't understand it. Percival was the most interesting man in the world, he'd thought to himself even before realizing he'd started developing feelings for him.

And now, there was Percival's hand resting on Harry's shoulder, and Harry just barely managed to stifle the sound he made. Head down in his hands, elbows digging into his knees, back hunched, and Percival right there next to him. Percival's hand is warm. There's only one layer of fabric between them—Harry hadn't even thought to throw on his robes before the battle. Percival's hand leaves his back. Harry shivers, barely even realizes he's cold before Percival slips out of his robes and drapes them over Harry. They're warm and lovely, and best of all, they smell like Percival.

Testing his luck, Harry slides over inch by inch. Percival doesn't stop him. Better yet, he wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders and lets him lean into his side.

"I just saw him," Harry murmurs, gaze forward on Dumbledore's tomb instead of the more appealing sight of Percival. "Dumbledore, I mean."

Percival's grip tightens almost imperceptibly. "Did you die? When I saw you in Hagrid's arms, I assumed the worst, but then you stood up to face him. I've never seen anyone do something so foolish or so brave. I've seen so much strength and sacrifice from you, Harry. Too much."

"I think I'm done with bravery for a while," Harry admits. "Maybe for the next week or so." He knows that if push comes to shove, he'll always pick up his wand. There's nowhere to run—he can't run from his conscience, nor his sense of duty. He's never tried, not even at the worst point after Sirius' death. "He was as cryptic in death as he was in life. I can't believe I missed him." Harry knows he will continue to miss him. The world is poorer with Dumbledore gone. But not all is lost. His friends are alive. Stunningly, strangely, Harry is too. He continues, telling Percival about walking to his death in the Forbidden Forest and waking up to find Dumbledore waiting for him. He doesn't worry about Percival not believing him; Percival has never doubted him, never considered him a liar. There are precious few people about whom Harry can say the same. Harry caps off his story by telling Percival about Narcissa's involvement. Finally, Harry sits up and looks over at Percival. At his face, his eyes, his strangely bare neck, the way his collar is open. "You're—not wearing a tie."

Percival is closer than Harry had allowed himself to realize. His arm slips from Harry's shoulders when Harry sits up. Percival doesn't take away his warmth, doesn't stand up to walk away. His arm simply settles on Harry's lower back, warm and easy. At Harry's words, a touch humor finds its way to Percival's eyes. "There wasn't much warning given in advance of the battle. I was worried about not arriving here in time."

"You still wore robes," Harry says, not accusingly.

"I could hardly go out undressed," Percival replies. "I am already under-dressed without a tie."

Harry glaces down at himself. "If you're under-dressed, then what am I?" His brow furrows as he realizes exactly what he's wearing. "I think this must be one of Dudley's old shirts." Very old, if it fits Harry.

"All the better to kill him in, don't you think?"

"He would be mortified were he in his right mind," Harry replies, now satisfied with his particular outfit. "By the very end... I don't know how much he understood. He was never the master of the elder wand, no matter how much he wanted to be, and he didn't know how many of his horcruxes were gone. Maybe he didn't think he would really die." Harry swallows the ache in his throat and looks down at the corpse again. It's easier to look at him with Percival sitting next to him. "Do you think there should be a funeral?"

"I think if anyone has the right to decide what to do with his remains, it is you."

There are no Riddles left, no Gaunts. There is only Harry. "I carried a piece of his soul for sixteen years. I guess that has to count for something."

Bracing himself, Harry stands, adjusting Percival's robes so that they don't fall from his shoulders. With a wave of his wand, he brings Voldemort's body to the very edge of the lake. Resolute in his decision, he casts a fire spell on Voldemort's corpse. It isn't fiendfyre; it doesn't need to be. There is no soul left within this body, nothing of the monster or the man. Under the power of the elder wand, it is all over in a matter of minutes. The lake's tide takes Voldemort's ashes into it. If there is a piece of Voldemort that still loved Hogwarts, still had something pure to think of this place, then perhaps he would be content to rest on the grounds of his first true home.

Harry turns around, away from the lake and toward the future. The blue skies above, Hogwarts, Percival. Percival stands a few paces behind him. Harry has only seen him without his robes a few times, mainly during training. It's a good sight, even if Percival prefers his layers and fashions.

Harry's face feels overly warm from the heat of the fire, momentary as it was. The heat of something else, too. 

He'd spent months longing to return to his family, friends, Hogwarts, but for every thought of the others, there had been two of Percival. "When I woke up after talking to Dumbledore and realized I was alive, I knew I didn't want to go without telling you I loved you."

He meets Percival's gaze for the eventual gentle let-down, but Percival doesn't look at him with scorn. He simply says, "Harry..."

"I know. I'm too young, I'm male, I'm too—" Harry shakes his head, struggling to find a word that encompasses the divide between the two of them. "—Harry Potter. You're not interested in me. It's fine. I just had to say it."

"You _are_ too young for me," Percival agrees, stepping forward. When Harry ducks his chin, he tilts Harry's head up. "As I have reminded myself several times. The rest of it either is unimportant or untrue. Patently untrue in the case of me being unattracted to you." Percival stops for a moment. Harry doesn't dare speak in case all of this prove itself to be a dream, and Percival continues. "And then I watched Hagrid bring your body to us. I don't care anymore about why I shouldn't. I don't know why I ever did. All that matters to me now is that you want this."

"I do," Harry blurts out, immediately, so truthfully it hurts. He meets Percival's eyes fiercely, unshaken by the realization that, "You've known all this time, haven't you?"

"I was the one who trained you in observing your surroundings better," Percival huffs, his hand gently running along Harry's cheek. "I was flattered. I still am. I didn't know if your feelings would last through the war, so I resigned myself to expecting anything, even you returning to Ginny."

"I tried to forget you, I really did. It didn't work out. I confessed why to Ginny when we broke up. She called me a jerk and hugged me. And then when the ministry collapsed and I couldn't go a month without nearly dying, I just thought of you. I thought about telling you how I felt, and you telling me you felt the same. And you kissing me," Harry adds, swaying just the slightest bit toward Percival. He couldn't be more obvious if he tried. It's fine; he already almost has what he wants, what he's wanted for so long. "It was cold and painful, being on the run, and I thought of you. Constantly."

He can see the very moment when Percival gives in. "I love you. I really do. To hell with everything else."

"That's fine by me," Harry says, and he kisses him. It's what he's wanted to do for what feels like forever. He wants this, warmth and happiness and hope, and in a world without Voldemort, it actually seems possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/), doing my best to drag people into all my ridiculous rarepairs.


End file.
